I Know What You Did In the Dark
by 8belles
Summary: Post CAWS- Bucky learns to reclaim himself after the destruction of DC and Steve "Pulls that thread" that Widow told him not to. Will the two of them ever get their friendship back from the darkness? Reviews welcome.
1. Bucky

**I Know What You Did in the Dark**

**Bucky**

I kept my steps silent, leaving my failed mission at the bank of the Potomac. He had a name, that shield and star… Steve? Why did I save him? Shoving the memory roughly away, I noticed my right arm hurt like burning fire; I clutched it to my chest because it wasn't working. Strangely I felt the urge to scream in fury, but who was I angry at? Hydra? Peirce? Rumlow? Zola? All of them? Instead, I remained soundless and walking because my training wouldn't let me say a word. It was like my body was trying to protect me by pushing me away from this place. _But I knew him_, echoed faintly on the edge of my mind_. __**Keep walking**_**,** my body ordered and so I complied thinking of no other reason not to.

Robotically, I hiked away, as the remaining explosions boomed out over the larger Washington DC area. The last chunks of helicarrier, Triskellion and quinjets surrendered to the force of gravity. Sticking to the overgrown banks of the Potomac, I made my way upstream in a mental haze. Sirens passed by me on the George Washington Memorial Parkway, screeching out warning to anyone close and the noise was shrill to my ears but it concealed my movements. Eventually, a bridge became visible and a sign: _Theodore Roosevelt Island National Park_. Thickly wooded and far enough from the carnage behind, my body in survival mode directed me to slip quietly in the water and swim to the bank, avoiding the bridge, which was swarming with troops and remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. At first, the icy water sucked me down like syrup. For a brief moment, I seriously contemplated letting go and succumbing to the dark depths, but another shadow voice echoed in my skull, "_Till the end_." My boots were like concrete blocks on my feet and my disabled arm hampered me; I had to kick hard and made it to the bank, gasping for air. _**Stay low, out of sight, Asset**_, my training told me.

_My name is Bucky_, I began angrily at myself.

_**Right now, it's not**_, my body responded as I reached the bank and hauled myself up, dripping. Staying low, I moved away from the bridge view and onto a low hillside covered in trees. Growling in pain, I pulled off my boots with my metal arm and dumped the water out. The agony of my dislocated shoulder was catching up with me. The adrenaline was wearing off. For the first time in a long while, I was exhausted and feeling… hurt.

Lying back in the leaf litter, breathing in damp woody smells, I stared up through the multitude of green leaves and farther to the blue sky. I could hear birds in the trees singing as if nothing in the world bothered them. _Lucky bastards_, I cursed them. The thought struck me that I was finally free. Confusion was becoming less of a novel feeling rose up in my mind. Waves of pain were tearing at my awareness. Finally, under bird song, smell of leaf rot and dappled sunlight, unconsciousness came to me.

Something was tickling my nose. I opened my eyes gradually. A large black beetle was looking at me waving its antennae. Sitting up instinctively, I yelled, "What the- !" and reached with my dislocated right arm to knock it off but a vise of agony seized me and I hissed in pain. The beetle fell harmlessly to the ground when I shifted my position leaving me to ponder that an insect frightened the world's greatest assassin.

My shoulder shrieked at me as I felt bone grating on bone. I inhaled breath between clenched teeth. To try and distract myself from the pain, I noticed it was morning, the day after the fall of Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. I realized I was still free. A chill went down my spine and I crouched automatically, looking around warily. No handlers jumped out from behind trees. No chair and electrodes were in the forest. No Peirce or Rumlow or Zola to tie me up and torture me. There was no freezer. The thought dawned that I was on my own and would have to take care of myself, although not sure I remembered how to. And there was that man I should have killed but didn't. Was he ok? Shaking my head to clear it, I scolded myself, "Why the hell do I care. He was my mission. And I failed."

I could feel my training trying to throw its dark tentacles around my mind, _**Yes. You failed HYDRA. You should die. Death to traitors!**_

Squeezing my eyes closed and breathless with mental exertion, I began to fight that wave of guilt and the training with every psychological ounce, "No! I am free! I am … I am… James..Buchanan BARNES!" Intentionally I hit my injured shoulder with a silver fist. A blinding flash of pain seared me and I passed out, again.

No bugs woke me the second time and I could tell by the sun angle that I was not passed out for very long. My shoulder was still broken. I was going to have to fix that. Hauling myself upright, I looked for a sturdy, mature tree. I found a large basswood, and eyed the rough bark judging it carefully. "Ok, on three. One, two…", With a sharp twist, I threw my drooping right shoulder into the wood.

A resounding pop and a howl of pain rung in my ears as I leaned against the tree like it was my only friend in the world, panting. Slowly, I checked my fingers, wrist and finally I pushed back from the tree and carefully raised my arm. The bones were loose, but glided together like a normal shoulder. I could feel myself smirking but I really wanted to cry, I turned my back to the tree and slid down the bark to sit.

For the first time in a long time I felt the ability to close my eyes and not worry about someone shoving me back into the freezer. Breathing quietly, I listened to the birds again and began to formulate his next move. I needed a change of clothes.

My inventory of supplies was woefully short, compared to how I typically traveled. I had a few of my smaller knives, a small pistol that didn't appear to be too wet to function, and odds and ends. I felt my stomach rumble. How long ago did I eat? Do I eat? The vision of Peirce's kitchen comes unbidden before he shot that woman. Carefully, I probed that memory afraid my training would reassert itself. He had a glass of what was it? Milk. That white liquid. He had offered me some. Another memory jumped out of nowhere of two boys sitting a white wood table, legs dangling from dented wood chairs. A single light bulb hung over them and a woman served them the white liquid in small glasses. She had dark hair and looked like… me? The boy was blonde and tiny. He had a lopsided grin and raised the glass in a toast. The other boy had dark hair and did the same. They seemed genuinely happy.

Suddenly the snap of a branch broke me from the recollection. I scrambled behind the tree I had been leaning on and watched. A man came fumbling along in the under growth. He was older than I, with a scruffy beard. It looked like he had not bathed in a long while and his dark baseball cap was hiding his eyes. By his uncoordinated movements, I could tell he was drunk then the down wind breeze confirmed it with the rank odor of beer and cigarettes.

This may be the opportunity I needed.

I left him naked except for his underwear with a bruise on his temple, lying under the tree I had been concealed by. My training told me to kill him but I just barely fought off that impulse. No need to shed more blood. Trying on the faded jeans, t-shirt and dark colored hoodie, I felt strange and out of place. My silver arm was concealed though and the hat hid my long hair. _Gotta get that cut_, I thought, then realized when was the last time someone cut my hair? And who did it? More mental fog threatened to swirl in but I had to move on and figure out what to do next. The jeans didn't have as many pockets as my tactical pants, but I crammed what I could into them. I curled the ten-dollar bill I found in his pants into my front hoodie pocket. The rest of my supplies and clothes, I cached up in the crotch of a tree branch. Perhaps I'd need that later.

Moving off toward the road that wound its way through the park, I emerged onto the sidewalk. The sun was bright from the shade of the trees and I began to walk back to the entrance of the park. I was grateful for the baseball cap. My stomach asserted itself again. I needed to find some food. A few cars passed me but Washington looked deserted for the most part. I looked up river where the Triskellion building used to be and saw wisps of smoke and jagged wreckage. Hulls of helicariers stuck awkwardly out from the bottom of the river as fire boats hosed them down. The city was fairly quiet and it felt strange to walk about in the open during the day. Crossing the bridge, I made a direct line for the Lincoln Memorial, a landmark that I recalled before all this happened to me. Without a mission, my thoughts wandered, which is not a good thing.

"Bucky?" into my head came the shocked voice of that man, Steve, when was assigned to kill him.

_Who am I_, I wondered to myself as the sun warmed my back. _Why didn't I kill him_?

_**You are a coward, Asset**_, my training returned with a vengeance. Gripping my head in both hands, I tried to block out the accusatory voice. A few people passed me on the sidewalk looking at me strangely.

_Stop it,_ I yelled in my head and found a bus stop bench. Throwing myself down on it, I put my head between my knees, squeezing with my hands as if I could crush the voice out of my brain.

**Asset….** The voice taunted. **You are not a man, you are a weapon**.

"NO! I am NOT. I am Bucky Barnes!", I hissed out of my clenched jaw.

"Hey. You ok buddy?" an unknown but cautiously friendly voice said to me.

Jerking upright, shoving my metal hand into the hoodie pocket, I was ready to fight and kill. The woman before me, dressed in a U.S. Marines uniform, recoiled slightly. My quick eyes saw she was armed, although concealed.

I haven't spoken much to anyone so I am sure my crackly voice startled her. It certainly did me as did the lie I told, "Yeah. I… was just having a flashback."

"Are you a vet?" she asked, her expression softening some but her hand still hovering near her hidden weapon.

"Uh, yeah." I replied dropping my eyes.

"What conflict?" she probed gently.

"WW —I mean Afghanistan." I covered quickly recalling somewhere in my programming that country name that would make sense. Inside me, something twisted with my lie.

"Hmmm. That was a tough one. I had two tours. You need some help?" she commented relaxing her stance and the gazing above me at the Potomac River, "I mean, this place is kinda torn up with what happened yesterday, but I can show you where you can get some help. The President has ordered all government business shall continue today, despite the … wreckage."

"That'd be nice." I responded quietly looking up at her.

"If you walk that way," she gestured towards the Washington Monument, "And hang a left, past the White House you will see the Veterans Administration Building. They can get you into a program. It will help. Did me." Her warm brown eyes crinkled a bit with a small smile as if she had her own memories and shadows to deal with.

"Thanks." I mustered.

"Oh, and take this." She pressed a bill into my hand. I glanced at it and saw it was twenty dollars, "We fight it, every day. Good luck to you, soldier."

She gave me a curt salute, which I instinctively returned, amazing myself how nice if felt to be recognized as a soldier, not a tool.

I watched her walk off, convinced she was not a HYDRA spy or S.H.I.E.L.D. remnant. The voice in my head was quiet now and I rose from the bench. I still had to find something to eat.

My walk was brisk towards the Monument because where things are open, there would be tourists and that meant food. I was not disappointed. Several food trucks were parked on 15th street. Stepping up to one, I found my mouth watering with the odors of real food. How long had it been?

I grabbed a hot dog and a Coke, something I recognized, with a bag of chips. I was very careful to keep my metal hand concealed. My change jangled in my pocket as I sat down nearby with only pigeons to keep me company. Biting into the crisp skin of the dog, another memory tumbled forth. Two boys, older now, the dark haired boy who's face I never saw and the skinny blonde boy sitting next to each other on a boardwalk rail. In front of them was a huge Ferris wheel lit up with bright white light bulbs, their filaments glowing white hot in the night. A warm breeze blew as carnival music played from an old organ and voices mixed with laughter. The dark haired boy had bought them two hot dogs and it seemed to be inhaled by the smaller boy like food was air. The dark haired boy nudged the blonde one with his elbow, "Steve you wingnut. Stop eating so fast! Momma said you'll get a stomach ache if you eat like that."

Steve.

The name hit me in the chest like a hammer. I stopped chewing thinking I was going to vomit.

Steve was the blonde boy. I was the dark haired boy. I was James Buchanan Barnes. Steve was Steve Rogers, my … best friend.

I was supposed to kill my best friend.

My mission was _him._

Sitting on the bench, I put my hot dog down, suddenly not hungry. My stomach protested wanting more, but my mind was overwhelmed.

I closed my eyes to reduce the stimulation I was receiving and calm myself with just breathing. In. Out. In. Out. A child's voice reached out to me, "Dad! I want to see the Captain America exhibit."

Captain America. Steve Rogers. The shield, the star, the uniform; it all began to meld together in a giant red, white and blue mess in my brain. I tried to kill him. I shot him. Digging down, I found my well of guilt and began to wallow in it.

"Ok Baby. The museum is open today, crazy as that is." The fathers' voice tinged with a hint of fear reached my ears.

"Dad, don't be silly. The Avengers are here to protect us. I bet Iron Man was flying around here and Black Widow could be anywhere! Yesterday was nothin' compared to New York." the child's voice responded with the gusto of youth.

"True. Times are strange these days." The father agreed, "Lets go to the Smithsonian."

I opened my eyes and watched what direction they walked. Just above their head on a light pole I saw a banner advertising the "new" permanent exhibit of Captain America. That's where I needed to go to get some information.


	2. Steve

**I Know What You Did In the Dark ch 2**

**Steve**

"Be careful, Steve. You might not want to pull on that thread." Black Widow said to me, a serious look in her eyes. I wasn't sure who she was warning: herself or I.

She turned, walking away and I looked down and opened the file. A grainy black and white photo was inside with the file of Bucky on ice. My gut twisted to see him like that. Below, was a smaller photo of him in his Army uniform before he set off to battle. I could feel the heat of my temper rising at the sight. Maybe she was right. Instead of pulling that thread, I was going to tear the whole friggin' thing down.

"You're going after him." Wilson stated plainly as I gazed down at the file.

"You don't have to come with me." my tone was dark.

"I know." Sam admitted with that accepting note that I knew meant he was going to anyway because he wanted to and it was the right thing to do. "When do we start?"

"We just did." was my curt reply.

* * *

I hadn't been home to New York in a while since the DC incident, thanks to Bucky putting four holes in me. Good thing I don't hold grudges long and he is my best friend or my attitude might have been different. My apartment still was in a bit of a ramshackle mess from my earlier departure but I can't ever claim being a tidy guy. Bucky always made sure I was organized, after Mom died.

Sam stayed behind in DC to do some old fashioned legwork on any leads we might have had on James. Even if he was an assassin, it is hard to hide that silver arm. With a heavy heart, I knew I dislocated his other one. Someone must have seen _something_.

The file and its English translation sat next to my steaming cup of coffee as the morning sun crept into my windows, highlighting the fire escape in sharp black lines against the glass panes. _Pull that thread,_ I thought in my mind, _for him, not for you_. Furrowing my brow and steeling myself, I prepared to dive into the past seventy years of hell they put them through.

_December 14, 1943_

_ HYDRA Soviet Division_

_ Laboratory Notes_

_ " A curious specimen was brought to me today from the HYDRA patrols in the valley below the rail line. Sgt. James Barnes of the United States Army was found in a ravine after Dr. Zola's train was tragically beset by Captain America and Zola captured. Judging from his injuries, he must have fallen from the train as it passed by. _

_ I recognize him from Zola's notes. Dr. Zola used him for some preliminary testing when his lab was located in Azzano, Italy. Brilliant work. Unfortunately, we had to amputate the specimen's arm, but I can see the genius of Zola's work in the subjects' resiliency. He will make a fine sample to continue HYDRA's work on."_

My gorge rose in the back of my throat, hot coffee and stomach acid. This is what happened to him after he fell off that train. I let him go, to fall not to death but years of torture. What kind of man am I? Holding my chin in my palm and feeling my teeth grind in anguish; I looked out the window at the beautiful day dawning before me. _Till the end_, I recalled telling him and I meant every word. I read on.

_December 25, 1943_

_ Hydra Soviet Division_

_ Laboratory Notes_

_ " The graft of metal to man is complete. The Subject has fully recovered from surgery to repair his left arm. We had to sedate him for a few days until he stopped trying to pull the artificial arm off. The engineering of the bionic arm is exquisite and the Subject has already attempted to use it, although it resulted in the unfortunate death of one of our guards. He also broke several pieces of equipment. Apparently our Subject is quite feisty and keeps stating the Captain America is going to rescue him. We supplement him with a sedative to keep him calm."_

I couldn't help a smirk at the description of Bucky being feisty and fighting like hell to get loose from those monsters. Then my sense reeled me in and reminded me that I didn't rescue him like he thought I would. My head began to pound with a splitting headache as I absorbed it all.

_January 15, 1944_

_ Hydra Soviet Division_

_ Laboratory Notes_

_ " The Subject's designation has now been changed to Asset. He is in robust physical health, despite his initial shock to having a metallic prosthetic arm. The mental portion of our work begins. I am told we need to erase his memory and create a new one for our grand purpose. Dr. Zola had some theories in his notes regarding how to accomplish this goal, but for the most part, this is new territory for HYDRA and us. I feel honored to be a part of such a grand undertaking. _

_ We have attempted many different psychoactive drugs on him. Some create a stupor, which is unacceptable, and others create great agitation in him. One of the stranger concoctions almost burned his veins to cinders. We shall not try that one again. _

_ In therapy sessions, even under medication, the Asset keeps repeating a name: Steve Rogers. It is almost mantra-like in his repetition of that name. I have been told that was his best friend and the Captain America. He curses otherwise, typically at us, and then returns to chanting 'Steve Rogers' when he catches his breath. _

_ I think we will have to combine pharmaceuticals with traditional electric therapy and verbal therapy to achieve our goals. My confidence level is high."_

My cheeks were wet with tears. What can you say to that? He called my name, over and over and I never came. Now I truly understood what Natasha meant by pulling that thread.

I had to stand up. This was harder than I imagined at all. Luckily, my phone rang right about then distracting me from the cruelty outlined on my kitchen table. Sniffling to clear my nose, I answered it, "Rogers."

"Steve. I have a slim lead." Wilson's voice said carefully.

"What is it?" my heartbeat picked up a tick or two.

"I was trolling the homeless guys that hang round the basin and I found one who said Bucky robbed him of his clothes a few weeks back." Sam replied and I could hear DC traffic behind him.

"Are you sure the guy really saw Bucky?" I answered suspiciously.

"He was very clear about the silver arm. Especially when I gave him a ten. Said that the person who attacked him was arguing with himself about 'Finishing him off' and he kept screaming 'No'. Sounds like an off-kilter assassin to me." Sam finished.

"How long ago?" I replied a sliver of hope rising.

"He said about two weeks ago." Falcon responded.

"So, he was in DC, but now where? And what is he wearing now?" I rejoined.

"That I have no answer for but he's wearing a dark hoodie, jeans and a dark t-shirt. Also a baseball cap." Wilson replied.

"Ok. It's a start. I am reading his file." I said flatly.

"You ok, Steve?" Sam inquired, the therapist tone creeping in.

"I'll be ok. Catch you later." I lied and hung up.

With a huge sigh, I sat down to the misery at my table and continued to read, looking for any clues.

_March 18, 1944_

_ Hydra Soviet Division_

_ Laboratory Notes_

_ "We have setback with the Asset. Today, some distinguished guests from HYDRA came to watch our latest demonstration. Some Ally POW's were brought in, a mix of English and American soldiers who were in average physical condition compared to our superb Asset. We wanted to demonstrate the Asset's training and ability. A battle room of sorts was created with a selection of weapons where we put the POW's. They quickly took up the arms and looked for a way out, as expected. Through mirrored bulletproof glass, we observed what occurred next, which was to drop our Asset into the room from the ceiling, simulating a real mission. His instructions were clear- kill all the POW's as quickly as possible._

_ The Asset was highly efficient in dispatching the American and English troops with great efficiency and grace. However, the break down occurred when he got to the last American solider, who evidently (and unknowing to us) knew the Asset before his accident. The soldier looked up at the Asset before he shot him and called out the Asset's former name. _

_ The Asset paused in his onslaught and stared blankly at the man. He then looked around the room at the results of his excellent work. At that moment, a realization that he was the source of the carnage occurred and he let out a loud yell and began to sob uncontrollably. He begged the American POW for forgiveness and the two of them clutched each other collapsing to the floor, crying. _

_ Our superiors were not impressed by his mental and emotional weakness and we were firmly instructed to remedy it. _

_ The POW was removed and we sedated the Asset. _

_ I have a theory that cryotherapy may help with the mental stability of our Asset. We are constructing a freezer at this time."_

My God, they made you kill innocent men, I thought bitterly, but you didn't give in.

_April 25, 1944_

_Hydra Soviet Division_

_ Laboratory Notes_

_ "The cryotherapy has been a success by augmenting the prescriptions and verbal therapy to wipe his mind. He believes he has no mother or father. His recollection of his school days and home are not present. We have inserted the appropriate background into his mind so that he believes that he was a part of HYDRA from the beginning. However, we still have one hurdle to overcome. That is the troublesome memory of Steve Rogers. The Asset does not remember him as the Super Soldier he is now, but he still harbors their childhood memories. We will begin a process of verbal therapy to finally eradicate that name from the Asset."_

I found my fists curled into tight balls, nails biting into my palms. Every muscle in my being was taught with anger.

_Addendum to Lab Notes: _

_ "This is a transcript of our verbal therapy with the Asset to erase the final memories of Steve Rogers. The Asset was sitting in his therapy chair and administered a serum of proprietary design. Once the drug had taken effect, we began. _

_ Therapist- Asset. Can you hear me?_

_ Asset- Yes._

_ Therapist- I want to talk about Steve Rogers._

_ Asset- He's coming for me._

_ Therapist- Yes, you think this. _

_ Asset- I do._

_ Therapist- I want to ask you why you think he has not come?_

_ Asset- Because that punk couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag. _

_ Therapist- I see. And what does Steve Rogers look like?_

_ Asset- He is the scrawniest kid I ever saw. Tiny. He's always sick and I… I think I take care of him. Yes. I do. He's my friend. _

_ Therapist- I see. And it is because he is so frail and small you care for him?_

_ Asset- No, because he is the bravest, most honorable guy I know. He's a real trooper. He's my friend. _

_ Therapist- But real friends help each other, correct?_

_ Asset- Yeah._

_ Therapist- Then if he's your real friend, then why has he not come?_

_ Asset- I dunno. ** there is confusion in his voice with uncertainty.**_

_ Therapist- I have a letter here from a few months ago stating that he's been seen with other friends and he knows you are here with us. ** The therapist holds up a letter with gibberish. A prop**_

_ Asset- That's not true. Lemme see that.** the Asset is trying to see the letter but he is restrained. _

_ Therapist- I am sorry. I cannot. But its signed here and notarized. It is the truth. _

_ Asset- can't be true. Stop it. ** the Asset is struggling against his bonds**_

_ Therapist- I also have bad news about Steve Rogers._

_ Asset- What!? Tell me. _

_ Therapist- He is dead. He contracted pneumonia and died this week. _

_ Asset- NO. NO. NO. ** he is struggling mightily against his chair. The technician applies a delicate shock**_

_The therapist waits for the tetanus of the electricity to cease then repeats that Steve Rogers is dead, followed by an electric shock. This is repeated twelve times until the Asset is exhausted. Now that the Asset is in a weakened state, the therapist produces a photo of a facsimile 'Steve Rogers' which we created. It shows a dead boy that matches the description we have on file. _

_ Therapist- I have something to show you._

_ Asset- No._

_ Therapist- I think you should see it._

_ Asset- No._

_ The therapist nods to the technician and a gentler shock is applied. The Assets eyes are open as he responds to the electricity. The therapist puts the photo in front of the Asset's face. He emits a very loud, mournful sound for several seconds and then looses consciousness. _

_ We will see tomorrow if this final procedure has obliterated the memory of Steve Rogers."_

I found myself breathing heavily as if I had just run a marathon. I scanned down further and in neat slightly faded fountain pen handwriting there is the note: _Success!_

They broke him.


	3. The Smithsonian

**I Know What You Did In the Dark ch 3**

**Bucky**

_One week before Steve and Sam begin looking for him _

I followed the father and child towards the Smithsonian building at a discrete distance. Keeping my head low and hands in my hoodie pockets, I blended in with the sparse crowds who walked the National Mall. There were snips of conversations I caught, such as people in fear of the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. or who was HYDRA and what was going to happen next to America.

The father-daughter pair turned toward the Museum of American History, a branch of the Smithsonian. Behind the darkened glass of the post-modern building was a security check. I could hear the beeping of the metal detector. Today, would be a day of particularly high security after the events at the river. Knowing now where I was going, I stepped aside and found a place to hide my paltry collection of knives and my gun. Doing so made me feel naked to the skin.

Joining the line again, I prepared to enter the building just like everyone else. As expected, my arm set off the detector. A burly guard in a dark blue uniform gave me a distrustful look and gestured to an adjacent area," Sir, please come over here."

I stepped aside quietly, and he wanded me with a hand held unit producing a loud squawk that split the air. People began to look at us. "Sir, can you take off your jacket?"

"I'd rather not." I said in a low tone. More people were beginning to stare, exactly what I didn't want.

"And why not?" the guard queried, looking me over. In my mind, I had already killed him multiple times, which disturbed me. Would my training come back unexpectedly?

Summoning my best sad expression, or what I considered sad, I replied in a near whisper, "I have a prosthesis. I'm a bit sensitive about it."

"A pros- what?" the guard said quizzically. Now his friend was leaning in to see if he needed some help.

" A metal arm. I lost it in … Afghanistan." I lied, throwing in a moist eye and gently rubbing my metal arm for effect. When did I ever become an actor?

"Oh. Oh!" the guard exclaimed as if he has just insulted my mother. "I am so sorry. Excuse me." He moved aside and almost bowed, such was his embarrassment.

I inclined my head briefly in thanks and walked on thinking to myself when did people get so stupid?

The crowds giving us the eye dispersed thinking that security had done their job and all was ok. Little did they know who I was and I could annihilate all of them without breaking a sweat. _Stop thinking like that_, I reprimanded myself. A shadow of doubt clouded my vision: did I know who I am? The large grey stone lobby was not overly crowded and the first thing I saw was the Star Spangled Banner exhibit. A huge metal representation of the flag of the United States hung before me in stainless steel. Behind the wall, the sign said, was the flag that Francis Scott Key saw when he composed the poem that became the national anthem of America. Curious, I joined the line of people filing slowly past the flag in the darkened exhibit. It was not much to look at, rather raggedy and patched, faded and holey in some places. My mind began to twist in different directions suggesting I should be greatly humbled by this symbol. This washed-out red, white and blue flag, the size of a ballroom-sized rug began to tug at my thoughts. I slowly realized the song playing, sung by a military choir, their baritone and tenor voices carrying above the solemn, whispered voices of the people assembled. "_Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light…_"

My hands shot out of my pockets and gripped the handrail like a vise as if I were hanging on for my life. A vision of a baseball field leaped before my eyes. I heard his laugh, Steve, his blonde hair flipping over his eyes as he belted out the tune. The New York Yankees were playing the Boston Red Sox, a classic tilt. I was singing too at the top of my lungs, _"Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave! O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" The stadium erupted in a thunderous cheer. The smell of cigars and popcorn filled the air and food hawkers yelled out their wares. _The room suddenly felt hot and the darkness was engulfing me. Steve's boyish laugh echoed in my ears.

"Bucky?" the man Steve said in the street.

"Who the Hell is 'Bucky'?" I had replied, before I tried to kill him.

_I'm right here!_ I shouted in my head.

I disentangled my fingers from the rail not seeing the dent my metal hand had made and left quickly before something else happened.

The lobby's light and air was welcome to me and I sat heavily on a bench just outside the flag exhibit. I barely remembered to shove my hands in my pockets again before someone noticed my hand. _Breathe,_ I commanded myself, _breathe._

**Sucking air for nothing**, **Asset,** that voice came back.

_Go away,_ I ordered the voice, almost on the verge of giving in.

**No. You failed. Disgrace. Commander will be very displeased**, it said.

_Commander is dead_, I shot back.

The voice was silent for a second and then replied, **doesn't matter. They didn't forget about you.** **And when they find you, they will freeze you again for your failures. **The word 'failures' rang like clanging bell in my skull.

A wave of revulsion passed through me and I gripped my head again in my hands, not caring if someone saw my silver hand. _No. No. No,_ I chanted softly to myself.

"Mister, who you talking to?" a boy's voice interrupted my psychological warfare.

Looking up quickly, I stuffed my left hand in my pocket, but not before the quick blue eyes of the boy saw it. "Uh, nobody. Just me." The kid looked uncannily like the Steve in my flashbacks, "Where's your folks?"

"Over there. Staring at their smartphones. Like everybody else does these days." The kid replied with an exasperated sigh and eye roll, then looked eagerly at me like he finally had someone to listen to him. "Why is your hand metal? Are you like a robot or something? Are you an _Avenger_?" He said 'Avenger' with whispered reverence and wide eyes, leaning toward me like I'd tell him my secret.

I had forgotten how to smile a long time ago, as if I was born without the ability to make the corners of my mouth go north. But this boy, so much like Steve, triggered some basic human instinct and I found myself remembering how to, slightly. "No. I'm a veteran. I lost my arm in combat. It's fake." I took my right hand and rapped my left shoulder. It made a dull metallic clank.

The boy's eyes were still voluminous with curiosity, and a hint of disappointment that I was not an Avenger, shrugged, "I gotcha. My friend's dad was in the Army and has a fake leg. Looks like a robot. It's cool. Except that time we used it for a hockey stick. His dad didn't like that much." A look of regret swept his face briefly then he asked boldly, "Did it hurt? Y'know. To lose your arm?"

Leaning back from the boy, I inhaled sharply as the space between us became unbearably heavy. Somewhere, I dug down and found the barest shred of grace to answer him, "A little, kid. Just a little."

He smiled at me and ran a hand through his blonde coif, "Good." he affirmed with what I am sure he thought was a manly expression.

"Jimmy? Where are you?" a woman's voice came to us and the boy turned his head, showing me how scrawny his neck was, just like Steve's.

"Here, Mom." he called back cheerfully. The woman approached, a worried look on her face that her son was talking to a complete stranger who probably looked a bit unhinged. "Hey, Mom! He's got a –"

"Jimmy! We don't talk rudely like that to people. Or people we don't know. Sorry, sir." She cut her son off and corralled his skinny shoulders with a protective arm leading him away. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed I was not some psycho who was going to stalk them.

Watching her pull her son away, felt a little like I was dying again, losing Steve. That picture they said was him… the chair. Electricity.

_Get up_, my brain ordered me sharply. _Get up. Get your information and get out of here._

Stiffly I rose, found the location of the exhibit on the map and moved towards it.

I don't recall ever being in a museum, except for a few missions I prefer not to think about, but they did Captain America in style. The enormous mural of Captain America and the Howling Commandos in the center the room was almost overwhelming. I saw Steve looking sternly at me, as if he could pierce my heart and see the darkness inside. And there I was to his left; two flesh arms, brave, resolved, ready to follow that skinny boy from Brooklyn who never walked away from a fight into any peril.

An overhead voice calmly narrated some text from a panel and I heard my name. Turning towards it, my face was enlarged on a plate of glass. Scanning the text as the narrator read it, "_Captured by Hydra, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation and torture_." It detailed how Steve had saved me and we both went on to work in the Howling Commandos against HYDRA.

My mind grew numb and disconnected because it didn't believe the kind words on the glass. I grew up in Brooklyn; I had a mother and father? When did I do these amazing feats of honor and bravery? I saw the date of my death. An icy hand gripped my heart: dead. "The only Commando to give his life in the service of his country." The voice murmured on. The room began to heat up like an inferno. The pleasant drone of the narrators' voice was starting to sound like nails down a chalkboard.

**Asset,** the voice hissed in my ear.

_No. Not here. Not now_, I reprimanded it still glued to my past life on glass. People moved around me like buoys in an ocean, soundless with no direction.

**Cut off one head, two more take it's place**, the voice whispered again.

I had to leave. Now. Before I killed someone, if not myself.


	4. Sam

**I Know What You Did In the Dark**

**Sam**

I told Cap once that maybe Bucky was not the kind of guy you save. I'll never forget the look he gave me when I said it, like I had just killed his first-born child. From that day on, I learned there was a bond there I could never touch and if it was that important to Cap, it would be to me too.

But I understood it, because it reminded me of Riley. Anyone who has lost someone close understands that raw emotion of loss that never really goes away. Steve now had a chance to bring the lost back from the dead. What I wouldn't give to have that opportunity.

So here I was, gumshoeing Washington for him, looking for a very real ghost who tried on more than one occasion to kill me. It didn't stop me from looking, though, because to do that would be insulting to Steve and I could never do that to him.

It was late afternoon. My back was to the railing of the George Washington Memorial Parkway Bridge, arms crossed, seemingly at a dead end. I had torn this town up from stem to stern and nothing had turned up. Hospitals were overwhelmed and Bucky would not be so stupid to walk into one. He didn't want to be found, and having to think like an assassin was starting to wear on me. Kicking the dirt between the sidewalk squares, I looked up from my frustrations to see a homeless dude. He was wearing some very atypical combat boots for someone of his profession. "Hey, bro. Where'd you get that fine footwear?" I asked him, standing up, as he rummaged through the trashcan near me for a bite.

The man stood up suddenly, unshaven beard blowing in the wind, a wild look in his eye but not for me, "Where? Where is he? Please… don't let him hit me again!" He had a purpling bruise over his right cheek.

"Who? Who hit you?" I pressed carefully watching the nervous man twitch and jerk at the slightest movements and sounds.

He leaned in and I could smell the liquor on his breath, "That man in black. With the silver arm!" His voice was a bare whisper. Eyes darted in all directions.

"Oh. _That_ man." I agreed with him trying to build some rapport with him.

"These are his shoes. I found them when I woke up." he replied with hesitation.

"Did he say anything to you?" My hope was rising that I'd have a lead.

"No. Just looked at me… with those _empty _eyes." The man shuddered, "And then he hit me once. I thought I heard him arguing with someone but I didn't see anyone else. And then… I blacked out. He took everything I had." Sadness filled the man's eyes that made me almost ashamed to be interrogating him when he was obviously due some justice and none was coming.

"Where did he hit you?" I pressed gently.

"Over there." he gestured toward the island.

"Thanks, bud. Thanks. I'm looking for him. That guy." I told the homeless man who was still scanning the surroundings for the Winter Solider, "You gotta name?"

The bearded face looked at me curiously then cautiously, "You ain't going to take me somewhere are you?"

"No sir." I replied earnestly.

"My name.. my name is Walter. I go by Walt. " he responded with a hint of a shy grin.

I inclined my head, "Nice to meet you Walt. You know, I work in rehab. I know some great shelters around here."

He became fearful looking but then slightly grateful, "Whadda mean?"

"Because you've helped me so much, can I suggest you go to one? Help you clean up some." I put on my best therapist face.

The blue eyes set in a sea of a hard life, softened a bit and became more sober, "You know, it's been a long time since I've had a proper shower."

"Then let me help you out, man." I said offering my hand.

He took it and gave me a strong shake, "I'd like that."

After I got Walter settled in at a friend's shelter, I came back to the island. The sun was setting and so I had to hurry over the bridge to the park. Quickly approximating where Walt had said Bucky jumped him I hiked into the woods. Long shadows were being thrown by the setting sun and the forest floor was beginning to look like every other place I'd already seen. I was glad the Army taught us how to track in field training or I'd be lost.

The twinkle of something shiny caught my eye embedded in a large tree trunk. Stepping over, I saw a tiny piece of metal, polished brightly silver, impaled in the bark. "Here's a piece of the puzzle, Bucky." I said out loud. Scanning the ground and other trees, I didn't see any more evidence. "Think, Wilson." I scolded myself.

A breeze passed through the trees and I heard a creaking sound. Looking up, there was a dark package stowed way up in the crotch of a tree branch.

"Cut the check." I said with a smile.

Knocking the package down, I rummaged through it. Mostly weapons and some survival gear but a piece of paper drew my attention. The ink was smeared from water but the email and had an address on it: Steve's address in New York City.

"Oh no." I breathed.


	5. The Train

**I Know What You Did In the Dark ch 5**

_A few days before Sam finds Bucky's things…. _

**Bucky**

Outside the museum, I gulped fresh air and light. Flashes of the mural came at me like knives, the text about how _good_ I was, _once _rattled inside my skull like marbles in a tin can. A few folks walked wide circles around me as I felt like retching in the bushes that edged the stairs.

_In. Out. In. Out. IN. OUT_, I repeated like a mantra. The training voice did not return. Deciding I was drawing far too much attention to myself, I quickly returned to my things and packed them away expertly. Standing to the daylight, I made the decision I needed to talk to Steve in person. Steve became my mission again, because I _chose_ it. Abruptly, I cringed submissively as I expected a handler to jump out and chain me up again because they could read my mind. No one came.

Trying to breathe normally, I shook the thought off but was still a little uneasy. My next directive was how to get to Brooklyn, New York.

Blending in again, or trying to, was difficult. I was used to the cover of night but I gave it my best shot. No one seemed to be concerned as I moved to a city map located nearby. A few tourists were studying it in front of me and I waited for them to depart. Their accent caught my attention and I listened intently.

"So, whacha say'n is we need to go to Union Station for the Amtrak." the taller male tourist said with an "I heart NYC" shirt to a shorter woman with reddish hair. I stared at her hair longer than I anticipated. Red hair… so familiar.

Shaking my self mentally, I listened again.

"Yeah, on Massachusetts Ave." the woman replied with her nasal accent betraying her origins in New York, perhaps the Bronx.

The next memory hit me, ironically, like a train. Steve and I were walking home from school. He was trying to knock off my cap with one tiny hand and not spill his books from the other. His infectious laugh rang out above the busy bustle of the street, where businessmen went home from work and housewives got last minute shopping done before supper.

I smiled down at him, like he was a little elf, and ruffled his hair, "Knock it off you punk!"

"I bet… I bet …I could take you, Buck. I betcha!" he giggled, with the occasional asthmatic gasp and darted away from me into the street.

"Come off it, wingnut." I scolded trying to cross without being hit by a Model A.

Suddenly, a runaway car barreled down the half paved, half cobblestoned street and Steve froze in its path, a deer in headlights.

"Steve!" I yelled and tackled him, rolling us so his fragile bones wouldn't crush beneath me. My body absorbed the impact knocking the breath from my lungs, as the car whizzed by not even seeing if we were ok. Both of us lay on the ground for a moment, catching our breaths, staring up at the brick buildings and blue sky. Time seemed to be suspended for a second. The elevated train chugged noisily by by on its tracks, a shrill whistle announcing its approach to the station.

"That was close, Buck." Steve finally whispered trying not to sound scared when his wheezing calmed and people noticed us lying on the ground.

"Yeah. Don't do that again." I groaned and gasped feeling the bruises that would form tonight. A few ladies and gentlemen helped us up and collect our things.

The memory faded when the woman's voice cut into the daydream.

"That station is, like, 2 mile away. Let's get a taxi." The woman moped at the taller man. Her red hair caught the light as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"We won't have enough money for our tickets home. Let's walk." he replied with a grumpy tone. The woman pouted and they moved off the direction of the station.

I watched them go and then studied the map. Seeing where I needed to travel, I wasn't going to stroll. I had a mission.

The day was growing warm and I felt my scalp itching under the used cap. I dare not take it off because I knew there were enough cameras around here to identify me. Keeping my head down, I just tolerated the trickles of sweat. My mind began to formulate a plan to get on that train.

My training voice stayed quiet, but I did recall some information from those days when it came to the heightened security around airports and train stations. I approached the front of station and circled around back. Finding the tracks, I skirted them furtively, trying to look natural, yet inconspicuous. There was a bridge close to the station that arched over the railways leading into a parking garage. It had exactly what I needed: darkness.

Looking both ways to see if I was going to be noticed, I leapt over the railing, landed and rolled with ease. Not bothering to dust off, I walked into the cool shadows of the tunnel. Loud rumblings of diesel engines, the hiss of metal wheels on rails and the occasionally horn filled the space. My eyes stayed keen for any security or train employees as I moved up the rail.

Looking ahead, I saw my next costume change. A maintenance worker was inspecting the undercarriage of a car and making notes on a clipboard. Like a shadow, I was on him, knocking him unconscious before he knew I was there. The voice stayed silent, but I felt eyes on me. Looking up, I saw a young girl inside the train car. Her face was a mask of terror, having witnessed my assault. I raised my finger to my lips for her to stay quiet, but I knew that was a slim chance. She inhaled to yell. Cursing, I lifted the maintenance man over my shoulder and carried him away to a darker corner.

Stripping the worker quickly, I ditched my old clothes and left him to wake up on his own. A few tracks over, I could hear the police radios crackling and the chatter. Climbing up a service ladder to the platform, I briskly walked away as if nothing had happened. Entering the main hall, the light and architecture almost distracted me with the gorgeous arches and rosettes all over the ceiling. Looking at the departure board, hanging above the ticket windows there were several trains leaving for various destinations along the East coast. My train was leaving right now.

Leaping into a run, I searched for the track number not caring who I hit in the process. There were shouts of indignation and yells of anger, but I ran on. Quickly, I knew there were police on my trail as blue uniforms began to converge on my peripheral vision. "Stop!" was shouted at me more than once, but it was all a blur as I accelerated.

Leaping over discarded suitcases and luggage, I skidded to a halt and looked behind. More police were now following me and I noticed they had moved all the passengers away to secure the area. I was almost alone with no cover. There was a service door to my right. I leapt at the handle and the emergency alarm sounded. The police surged forward. Almost falling down the service stairs, I regained my balance to jump from landing to landing till I was back a track level.

Springing to the track, I noticed there was a dim switchboard sign that read "NYC". The last train car was pulling away, its oval shaped door with the rubber gasket giggling lightly as the train accelerated. Making a split decision, I made the decision that this was my train. It had to be.

I heard the command to stop. Reaching into the pocket of my borrowed pants, I pulled out my last smoke bomb. Pulling the trigger, I lobbed it gently toward them and turned to run. Once a ghost, always a ghost.

The train was further down the track than I had anticipated and was getting faster and faster. Lungs were burning with effort, legs pumping as fast as I could make them move, I began to catch up. Finally, with my last gasp of air, I made a massive leap. My bionic arm saved my life by grasping the latching chains of the stair rail. My legs were being dragged painfully across every railroad tie there was. Hauling myself up arm over arm I barely escaped being towed to death.

Finally, I sat there on the platform of the rear car, sucking air into my burning lungs. Having eaten only three bites of my hot dog at lunch, I felt light headed. The tail caboose light blinked red every fifth beat and became hypnotic. The early evening sun was resplendent on the Capitol building, fading behind me, in a wash of orange and yellow. A feeling I had not had in many years came to me and I was startled at first by it. I was at _peace _for a moment. The clickity clack of the train wheels, the occasional train whistle and the wind were my only companions for the next three hours.

I guess those cops thought I couldn't catch a train in motion.

They don't know when I set my mind to something, I get it. Every time.

**A/N— School is gearing up again for us and so, I will have to be paying more attention to that than my writing. Patience for updates is appreciated. **

**8belles**


	6. The Surprise

**I Know What You Did in the Dark Ch 6**

**Steve**

The phone call was an irritating sound as I hung my head in my hands. My dinner of Thai take out sat cold on the table. It had been, I think, three days since finishing the HYDRA file on Bucky. It was hard to wake up every morning. Natasha was right. That thread was attached to so much terror and I certainly pulled it hard.

Glancing at the caller ID, I saw it was Sam. Darkness was about to swallow me after I read all the death, hurt and pain Bucky had been through. With a weary hand, I tapped the answer button and said nothing.

"Steve? You there, man?" Sam's voice was excited yet scared at the same time.

"Yeah." It was a whisper of myself replying.

"I have news. Not good." Sam replied in a clipped tone.

I sat up suddenly alert, "What?"

"I think Bucky's heading to New York. I found some of his gear a few days ago. He had your address. Listening to the police scanners and Internet chatter, someone fitting his description tore up Union Station here in DC, heading northbound." He paused briefly and then asked, "You ready for this?"

_Bucky is coming to see me,_ I thought gazing blindly across my apartment.

The news blindsided me with so many emotions that I didn't answer for, what I am sure Sam considered a long while.

His voice jolted a response out of me, "Cap!"

"Yeah. Yes. I am… I will be ready." I sputtered, blinking.

"You know he may already be casing your place." Sam replied, a protective edge in his comment.

A warm, brotherly feeling was beginning to fill my chest, "No. He would never… hurt me."

"He didn't_ hurt_ you. He tried to _kill _you, Steve." was the curt reply.

"Well, I can handle this." I retorted, getting annoyed that Sam felt I was unable to protect myself. I heard a train conductor announce a stop. I recognized it immediately, "Where are you, Sam?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone as I heard a train door slide open then shut and depart, "I'm a few blocks from your place." He sounded contrite.

"Sam." I said angrily.

"Now don't 'Sam' me. We are a team." he corrected me sternly.

My mouth opened and closed because I knew he was right. We were a team. I didn't ask him, but he volunteered. We made a team.

"Fine. You're buying the beers tonight for being such an ass." I shot back.

"Deal." he concluded and hung up.


	7. Penn Station

**I Know What You Did in the Dark ch 7**

**Bucky**

_The same day as Sam arriving in NYC. _

I was awakened by the jerky stop of the train. My neck was sore from leaning my head awkwardly on my shoulder for the ride and I rubbed it gingerly. The train was inside Penn Station and I gazed around it in amazement because it had become such a huge, cavernous place. There wasn't much time to reminisce about it thought, because I could hear police barking commands and radio communiqués echoing off the tunnel walls. Scrambling to the roof of the train car, I stayed low as not to be seen from the ground. A vision of a train speeding down tracks in a wintry Alpine landscape threatened to burst forth as I oriented on the roof. I shoved it away trying to focus on the situation at hand. Looking madly for an escape, I noticed there were pipes and electrical lines suspended from the ceiling. I knew of some of those were electrified and I had to chose carefully. Sizing up a prospective lead, I made a quick and silent leap, swinging up into the pipe works, glad I had ditched that florescent yellow reflective vest I "borrowed" from the train worker in DC.

Police and SWAT swarmed the rear car and found nothing but befuddlement. I gave a self-satisfied smile for my feat of prowess and then turned my attention to keeping unseen. Picking my way from pipe to pipe, avoiding electrical lines, I worked my way to the platform and the roof of a snack shop. Lightly landing, my stomach protested so loud I thought it would blow my cover. My belly would be happy to know I don't leave much behind and so I bought a Snickers bar and another Coke with the remainder of my money, a group of cops walking right by me and not batting an eye.

I cautioned myself not to get cocky with my newfound freedom.

Joining the throngs of other commuters, I walked to the main hall of the station. Boy, some things had changed!

Gone were the soaring ironworks and glass panes that illuminated the tracks and gates to trains. In fact, I was still underground and that made me feel slightly claustrophobic. The terrazzo floor was no longer a beautiful mosaic and tall blue pillars encircled in lights shone down on me. Following the crowd, not trying to look star struck, the giant departure and arrival board hung from a massively built circular room. There were red lights to spell out names of cities instead of the mechanical flip-card system I remembered. Now there were train lines and places I didn't recognize from the last time I was here. When _was_ the last time I was here?

I let myself be swept along, trying not to be crushed by the throngs of people passing by, hurrying to their destinations. In a blur of noise, people and luggage, I found myself in the one part I recognized. Finally, I was above ground. There was an old four-sided clock from the original depot at the 34th Street Long Island Rail Road entrance. The arches of marble soared up into the ceiling. There used to be rosettes carved there but now it was painted a dull blue green color. The creamy stone stairs still rose up with brass handrails and dark carved wood benches flanked the walls for weary travelers. The last rays of the sun pierced the windows and dust motes floated randomly through the air. I found myself breathless and struck with wonder at the same time because I was finally _home_.

Suddenly, a guy on a smartphone gave me a hard shove as I recollected my past. "What where you're going, buddy." He growled at me, passing quickly, eyes still glued to the screen.

Involuntarily, my hands clenched into fists as I fought the impulse to beat him to a bloody pulp, but I froze. Breathe. In OUT In OUT. Steve is my mission. Steve. I need to get to Steve. Calming somewhat, I had to get my head out of the past to find out how to get to Brooklyn. I never liked Manhattan much anyway.

**A/N It has been many years since I've been in Penn Station and Union Station in DC (used to live in both cities) so I'm working off memory and Google. Sorry for any native residents if I altered things too much. **


	8. You Need Me

**I Know What You Did In the Dark Ch 8**

**Sam **

The knock on the door was a quick rap of my knuckles. I knew Steve would be pissed to all hell for me showing up as soon as things got potentially dicey for his safety. But I knew, in my heart, that his judgment was clouded by his unwavering friendship to Bucky. That made Steve's notions suspect of just how Barnes was going to meet up with him.

The door opened and he was scowling at me, eyes clouded with displeasure, "Sam."

"Steve." I replied, evenly "May I come in?"

"Excuse me." Steve stepped aside and I walked into his apartment. It was modest and I recall him arguing with S.H.I.E.L.D. and several realtors that this was all he needed, not some penthouse like Tony. He was vehement that he was a simple man and needed simple housing even in a crazy rent-controlled city like New York.

Steve closed the door and turned, eyes on the floor then me, "You didn't have to rush back up here."

"I wasn't rushing." I replied, folding my arms across my chest.

"Oh, sorry. You _flew _up here." His tone was edgy and his frown still present.

"Control to Cap, but I don't have my wings any more." I bit back, trying to stay civil, "And right now, you need me."

"Why? Where is the boogey man?" Steve opened his arms wide and looked around his place in fake incredulousness.

Wiping a hand down my face, while closing my eyes, I felt the two days of stubble on my cheeks. I was watching for the ghost and not sleeping or taking care of myself. This was getting nowhere fast. "Look." I opened with a pleading expression, "You read that file. You read it and now you know. I can see you're hurting- "

"Don't go off with this therapist stuff. I'm fine." Steve shot back, eyes flinty, his tone hard, hands on his hips.

"I'm not being your therapist. I'm being your _friend._" I said loyally.

Steve looked past me out the darkened window behind me and inhaled then exhaled as if he was trying to rid himself of excess energy in the form of air. Looking back to me, he dropped his arms and suddenly looked the ninety plus years old he was, "Yes. I read it. It was horrible. It's some of the most horrible things I've ever seen." He paused to breathe and collect himself, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, "And it is _so hard_ to think that **I** let him down."

"It wasn't your fault." I supported.

"You aren't the first person to tell me that." He replied quietly glancing at a picture of Peggy Carter on his side table, "But I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want, but the facts are war is hell. And we all knew that our lives were on the line. So, the question now is, Steve," He looked up at me when I said his name, "_What_ are we going to _do_ now that Bucky is in New York and may be trying to fulfill his mission."

"But we don't know that." Steve countered taking up that defensive posture from earlier.

I couldn't fight it, I guess, I went with it, "Ok. Ok. So let's suppose he just wants to reconnect. How do you think you'd react." The thought of Bucky "reconnecting" with anyone was almost absurd to me but I kept my voice steady as if talking Cap down from a suicide jump.

Steve opened his mouth with a sharp comment, hand raised in a pointing gesture, but then shut it as if he had not expected me to ask him that particular question. He paused and instead rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I had not… thought of that."

"Well, you sure should start thinking about it. You two didn't exactly hit it off real well last time." I reminded him.

"I'd like to think he'd be more… friendly." Steve replied in a hopeful tone, the light back in his eyes.

"Think back to when you woke up from the freeze. How did you feel in Times Square when Nick introduced himself?" I prompted, "Not sure you liked what you woke up to?"

"It was a bit of a surprise." Steve admitted.

"That is putting it mildly. Now walk in Bucky's shoes. He's out of his hell, alone, in a time he doesn't recognize and _maybe_ he's comprehended he tried to kill his best friend." I paused as the horror grew in Steve's eyes, "Imagine how he'd react to you."

"But… he's Bucky. He's my best friend." A hiccup of a sob caught in Steve's throat, "I talked him out of killing me. He knew his name."

I sighed. This was going to be a _long_ friendly therapy session, "Steve. I'm hungry. Let's eat and then get some beers."

Steve blinked errant tears away and straightened up, "Sure. Good idea. I know a great pastrami place that me and … Bucky used to eat at."

"You mean that place is still around?" I joked.

"Good food never goes out of style. And you are buying the beers." Steve responded getting his wallet and bomber jacket.

"Fine. Not like I'm some sort of national hero or something. You probably get your beers for free." I grumbled.

"Yeah. Most nights. Less for you to spend." Steve replied as we walked out his door and he locked it behind him.


	9. The Thread of Darkness

**I Know What You Did in the Dark ch 9**

**Steve**

I was incensed. Why did Sam run back here from DC just because Bucky might be in New York? What was I, some greenhorn? I made up my mind when Sam arrived, I'd give him a piece of my mind and then we'd get back to looking for Bucky.

The knock was crisp and just loud enough to be heard. I answered the door with a speech already in my head. There stood Sam, unshaven and looking rather haggard. In the back of my mind, I began to feel sorry for the demands I was placing on him. I remained steadfast, "Sam."

He replied efficiently, "Steve. May I come in?"

"Excuse me." I stepped aside to let him walk into my apartment. He sized it up in a few moments. I hadn't bothered to tidy up, not that it mattered anyway. I could hear Bucky tsking me for not keeping my place neater in case I got a date. Without him, how was _that _improbability going to occur? Bucky was the ladies man, not me.

Closing the door behind him, I looked toward Sam and commented rather firmly, "You didn't have to rush back up here."

"I wasn't rushing." Sam replied, taking a defensive pose, broad arms across his chest. He looked very tired.

"Oh, sorry. You _flew _up here." I quipped then regretted my attitude but I still felt exasperated.

"Control to Cap, but I don't have my wings any more." he bit back then argued, "And right now, you need me."

I was at my breaking point of aggravation. Throwing my arms wide, I turned right and left, gazing at my home, "Why? Where is the boogey man?"

Sam inhaled a steading breath and swiped a hand down his face. With a guilty heart, I saw how hard he was working for me even though he was getting nothing in return. That made me feel miserable but my temper still was simmering on the back burner, close to a boil. ""Look. You read that file. You read it and now you know. I can see you're hurting- "

"Don't go off with this therapist stuff. I'm fine." I shot back, putting my hands on my hips to prevent them from curling into fists. My vision tinted red when he mentioned that file and my stomach contorted inside me. He had_ no_ idea what Bucky has been through.

"I'm not being your therapist. I'm being your _friend._" He responded coolly to my heated words.

I broke his gaze first and looked out the night sky from the window behind him. Lights of the city were twinkling on buildings. Focusing on them, I breathed in and out to calm my mind and release the anger I felt, not at Sam, not at Hydra, not at S.H.I.E.L.D. but at _myself_. The exhaustion of spent anger consumed me and my arms dropped while I felt the last sparks of rage leave me, uselessly wasted. Looking back to Sam I quietly said, "Yes. I read it. It was horrible. It's some of the most horrible things I've ever seen." Tears welled and threatened to tumble. Inhaling, I didn't want them to fall so I swiped my hand across my nose, "And it is _so hard_ to think that **I** let him down."

"It wasn't your fault." Sam sympathized, his voice softer.

"You aren't the first person to tell me that." Peggy's kind face looked at me from the black and white framed picture I forced S.H.I.E.L.D. to give me shortly after I was thawed out. "But I don't believe it." Hearing my voice, I sounded so old and defeated. What the hell was happening to me?

Sam firmed up his stance and said, "Believe what you want, but the facts are war is hell. And we all knew that our lives were on the line. So, the question now is, Steve." I tore my gaze from Peggy's picture to look at Sam, "_What_ are we going to _do_ now that Bucky is in New York and may be trying to fulfill his mission."

"But we don't know that." I felt walls reasserting themselves brick by brick between Wilson and I.

"Ok. Ok. So let's suppose he just wants to reconnect. How do you think you'd react?" Sam postulated in a neutral tone, hands extended to me, palm down.

At first, I had a snappy retort, my finger pointing to accuse but his question caught me off guard. Had I thought of that? What would Bucky want if he saw me again here, in our hometown, our old neighborhood? Instead, I grazed my hand across my chin, "I had not… thought of that."

"Well, you sure should start thinking about it. You two didn't exactly hit it off real well last time." Sam prompted.

"I'd like to think he'd be more… friendly." Letting my mind wander with that thought, I envisioned a more joyful reunion.

"Think back to when you woke up from the freeze. How did you feel in Times Square when Nick introduced himself?" He asked, "Not sure you liked what you woke up to?"

"It was a bit of a surprise." I agreed but thought that was an understatement. When I was surrounded in Times Square with all the lights, noises and new fangled cars, it was like being in a alien world.

"That is putting it mildly. Now walk in Bucky's shoes. He's out of his hell, alone, in a time he doesn't recognize and _maybe_ he's comprehended he tried to kill his best friend." Sam began to explain and the darkness from Bucky's past began to crush my glimmer of hope. Chills of terror ran down my spine as I contemplated his words and those tears began to well up. "Imagine how he'd react to you."

"But… he's Bucky. He's my best friend." A hitch of a sob caught in my throat, "I talked him out of killing me. He _knew_ his name."

Sam looked at me sidelong and with a sigh said, "Steve. I'm hungry. Let's eat and then get some beers."

I blinked and swiped the heel of my hand over my eyes quickly trying to compose myself. Sam didn't need to know how many I had cried for Bucky after I read the whole file. That pulled thread let all the darkness out into the world. "Sure. Good idea. I know a great pastrami place that me and … Bucky used to eat at."

"You men that place is still around?" Sam smirked.

"Good food never goes out of style. And you are buying the beers." I cut back while getting my coat and wallet.

"Fine. Not like I'm some sort of national hero or something. You probably get your beers for free." Sam groused.

"Yeah. Most nights. Less for you to spend." I replied trying to lighten up for the evening. I locked the door behind us.


	10. Photographs

**I Know What You Did in the Dark ch 10**

**Bucky **

The subway cars were new, but the street names were not. Memories swirled around me like smoke and fog as I paid the fare and entered the glorious system that was the New York City subway.

Taking seat, I kept my head down and just listened to modern New York. The accents were just as varied as they were when I was a boy, but now the tones were different, less Irish, German and Italian and more every where else. Somewhere in my heart, I was glad New York was still a melting pot of people and maybe if we listened enough, we'd all get along.

There were young people playing music too loud, strong bass beats marking time with the click clak of the car, and people with kids, noses buried in cell phones. I almost lost track of time just letting the sounds of the train wash over me, until an older voice spoke, " 'Scuse me. You work for Amtrak?"

I jumped slightly and then looked to my left at the passenger. Briefly puzzled, I remembered I was still wearing the Amtrak worker's shirt and pants and there was a patch on the shoulder identifying me as such.

The old wizened man had thick glasses and a wispy comb-over. His beige sweater hung, wrinkled over his age-bent frame. "Um, yeah. I do." I replied quietly, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

"That is curious! I used to work the rails back before the war. Employed on the Royal Blue line from New York to Washington. Loved that job. I was the porter on the train." He paused looking distantly across the cabin like he was reliving his memory. I tried to politely ignore him but he continued his tone changed, "But then I was drafted."

I felt like lightening was gathering in my bones when he said he was drafted. I was no genius, but I could figure out which war he was talking about. Not here. I didn't want to talk about it here, my mind reeled. Steve, I focused. Keep the mission in your head. The old man prattled on as if he didn't sense my discomfort.

"And I was sent overseas. And I work'd the rails there. Serious work that was. Making sure our boys got their supplies and blowing up those German tracks." He paused again but for a shorter time, "Then, it was my turn to have my train blown up. Germans took us prisoner. " I noticed a hard line form across his mouth, "They found out I was Jewish."

Bursting into my head, the HYDRA train snaked through the Alps during a storm. A zipline pulled me like a Coney Island roller coaster down to the roof of the train and I followed the man in red, white and blue. Fast-forwarding, we were in the ammunition car, Steve one ahead of me when that _thing_ with tesseract fueled guns came at us. Moments blurred and I had Steve's shield in my hands. Why? Next a blast hits me and throws me out of the train car, with half the car itself.

I hear his voice and feel wind beneath my feet. I am terrified as my fingers slip… slip … and falling… falling.

**ASSET,** the evil sibilant hiss of my training came back into my mind like a cobra. It has been silent for so long, I was hoping it wouldn't come back.

Screwing my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands to my eye sockets, I didn't care if other passengers saw me and thought me odd. NO, I replied.

**Asset, you think Rogers will really care about you?** The voice askedsarcastically.** No one cares about you. You are nothing.**

NO. Get out of my head! I yelled at it. Distantly, I still heard the old man's voice just chattering away about World War II.

**Kill Steve Rogers. Kill Captain America**, the training chanted. **Kill him. Kill all.**

The lightening was collecting for a strike. The power building as my mind swirled around the memories of sniper missions, assassinations, freezing cold, and periods of amnesia. Sucking me down into black vortex within my mind, I was helpless and in a subway with no way out. If I didn't leave people were going to die. My vision began to tint red, muscles cramping and spasming with no one taking any immediate notice.

But the old man's voice said two words that was a ray of light into my maelstrom, "- Captain America!"

Blinking, I looked at him and forced my mouth to form the words, "Who?"

The old man looked mildly surprised I asked him a question as he was in the middle of his reminiscing narration, "Captain America. He saved us from the Germans after our train was blown up. The Howling Commandos too! Oh what a sight they were. Took those Nazis out lickity split." A triumphant smile lit his face making the wrinkles on his cheeks fold inward.

Steve… Captain America. A train in occupied France and the Commandos. I focused on that memory like a lifeline to pull me out from the dark. The killer instinct began to subside slightly. The Nazis had bombed a rail line that the air strikes missed. It was a small group of them, no more than about a hundred and our orders were to get rid of them and rescue the train operators. Nighttime was when we struck and while it wasn't easy, I didn't recall it being too difficult either.

"I was set aside from the other prisoners because I was Jewish." The old man continued, "And Bucky Barnes rescued me. Saw him take on five Germans single handedly. A sight to see and boy was I glad to see him!"

I looked at the man closer, now feeling slightly more in control, but the face wasn't coming to me. Waves of darkness were still crashing at my spider silk thin thread of sanity.

"All said and done, I got a picture here." Reaching into his cardigan, in his shirt pocket, he pulled out a very well worn black and white photo. "I never married or had kids, but if I did, I'd show them this every day and tell them to say 'Thanks' to the Howling Commandos for saving my life."

In the photo Steve stood to the right, I stood to the left of this soldier I was speaking to. We were grimy and dirty but genuine smiles were on our faces. A virtual typhoon of sadness consumed my brain and snuffed out the vortex of hatred. As if this sign of goodness was light, the training voice slithered back into the dark void leaving an oily mental trail. Gently, I took the photo from him and studied it. Youth, friendship, adventure looked me back in the face and I began to mourn in my heart for what was lost.

"Ya know, you look an awful lot like Seargent Barnes. You got longer hair, though. " He remarked, looking at me closely through thick glasses over rheumy eyes.

" I get that a lot- a familiar face. Thank you. This is my stop." I said quietly, returning the photo to him. He took it back and returned it to his shirt pocket over his heart. Before I exited the train, I felt the urge to salute him and so I did. A shocked look passed over his expression as I think he believed he saw an apparition. In a way he did, and saved the lives of everyone on that train from me, just like I had saved him, apparently, years ago.

Bolting up the stairs, I needed air again. I kept running for blocks and blocks until I lost count how far I had run. Slowing to a jog and then a stop, I looked around to see I was on Steve's street. How that happened, I'll never know, but it was like a homing beacon had drawn me there.

The brown brick building was inconspicuous, which apparently was a rare thing in this twenty first century New York, where bigger and flashier is better. I opened the door to the small lobby and saw the mailbox bank set into the wall. An inconsistently flickering florescent light overhead was like a camera flash. Old brass cubbies each bearing the name of the tenant on scraps of paper stuck to the small doors met my eyes and I scanned them for his name. Getting the apartment number, I contemplated how ludicrous it would be for me to just go up and knock on the door.

Equal parts of excitement and revulsion filled me at that prospect. What would he say? How would he react? Does he really want to see me after everything I've done? The sick feeling of knowing I shot him and nearly bludgeoned him to death oozed forward and my stomach turned.

No. I cannot just knock on his door. I need to gather information. Yes. That's it, I convinced myself, I need information. Exiting the small lobby, I circled around the back of the building where the pretty face brick gave way to rougher, less refined brick and the mortar wasn't as neatly laid. How many alleys had I been in over the years? Unbidden, my brain began to tick off how many fights I had saved Steve from in back alleys. Too many alleys, but they were _so useful_.

Taking a vertical leap, I swung up on the fire escape, staying low to avoid anyone seeing me from the opposite building; glad the sun had gone down. Skirting the stairs, I climbed up to the third floor. Slowly, I peaked above a few windowsills thinking in my mind where would his apartment be? A cat surprised me and hissed. Ducking, my heart pounded in my chest. Once again, the amazing Barnes frightened …of a housecat.

Finally, I found the window I wanted and cupped my hands around my face to see in from the grimy exterior. There was a picture of Peggy Carter I could see partially on a table facing the apartment door and that confirmed this was the place.

With a knife, I popped the old window lock and let myself in. Silently creeping through the window frame, I avoided the couch. Standing up, I couldn't believe I was in Steve's apartment for a moment. It was too surreal. Days gone by vaulted over themselves in my mind of us as children, my family and the times we all spent together. I could smell Steve's classic Old Spice, just like our dads used to wear. His presence was very easy to feel, knowing him as long as I have.

Looking around the place, I picked up Peggy's picture and looked at it. His compass had this same photo. Called her his "Compass Rose" to always lead him home. I used to tease him that he was so whipped by this dame. He'd get all-serious and tell me to knock it off because he was in love. After a while, and a few knuckle sandwiches later, I learned not to tease him about her. Looking back, I suppose I was jealous he'd found that one thing I never could despite my knack for picking up the ladies.

Moving around the living room, I noticed what general disorder it was in and my urge to tidy up after him was almost overpowering. It was like an instinct because I did it so much for him through our younger years. Wisely, I left everything untouched because who knows what he'd do if he knew I'd been in his apartment.

Only having the alley lights and what little moon there was to see by, I glanced around to see nothing else in particular until I peeked into his bedroom. The punk didn't even make his bed, saw and snorted with disgust. A bureau was to my right and I glanced at it. Freezing, I stared at the photo framed and sitting upon it. Steve and I, mid laugh looking at the camera, standing by a map table, was encased in a black frame. The day was immediate in my mind. We were the newly minted Commandos and going over our next assignment. James and Jacques had gotten in some silly argument over the pronunciation of a German town and then Gabriel made a very ungentlemanly comment about the word. He had alluded to something that embarrassed Steve. Good old Steve… always the goodie-two-shoes. So we all enjoyed a decent laugh for the moment while the Army photographer snapped stills of us for the papers. Guess Steve had gotten the photo from that file.

My left hand traced the outline of us, the stark contrast of then and now sharp as a knife blade. Half a laugh and a sob rose in my throat and caught me off guard. _My goodness, how far have I fallen?_ I asked myself. Blinking back tears, I tore myself away from the photo. A thought dropped on me like a rock. I was still wearing the Amtrak clothes and that made me easier to identify. I think Steve wouldn't mind me borrowing some of his, would he? After all, he was my best friend.

With great care, I found an Army t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were slightly too long for me, but it would do. I bundled up the Amtrak clothes and set them outside the window on the fire escape to take later. Placing every thing back where I found it, I moved to the kitchen, which was attached to the living room. Grabbing a banana and a glass of milk, I chewed thoughtfully about how man meals Steve and I had shared over the years; home made ones, MRE's and even some around the campfires of our liberated hosts. Each was always richer not for the food, but for the company.

Mid-gulp of milk, I heard two sets of feet in the hallway. Seconds later, a key in the lock. A heartbeat after that, I was out the window. Steve and Sam were back.

**A/N my grandfather (A WWII vet, and my own dad) wore/wear the Classic White Porcelain bottle Old Spice. Not that funky stuff. It wasn't a bad cologne. Not sure if they make it any more but it seems like the kind of thing Steve would wear. **


	11. Questions

**I Know What You Did in the Dark Ch 11**

**Steve**

"Seriously, the serum did that to me. That's why I can lap you silly, 'air man'" I laughed at the slightly soured look of Sam as we debated which branch of the military was more fit.

"Well, I don't see them handing that voodoo magic out at basic training, grunt." he shot back as I put my key in the door.

The lock gave easily, like it always did and I pushed it open as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Quickly, my hand went up to block Sam from entering, and he bumped into me gently from behind. "What's up?" he whispered, his tone and posture changing instantly. I glanced in his direction and a pistol was in his hands pointing at the ceiling, safety off. 

"_Something_. It's not right." I replied cautiously, cursing that my shield was under my bed in my room. Keeping the lights off, I crouched down and did a shoulder roll into my living room, staying low. Sam covered me in the doorway with his weapon and swept the room, staying alert.

The window behind my couch was slightly ajar and the evening breeze blew in gently, ruffling the curtains. Glancing to my right, I signaled to Sam I was going to my bedroom. Everything looked in its place but I felt like someone had _been _there. I checked for my shield, sighing with relief that it was untouched. Pulling it out from under its storage place, I carried it almost like a security blanket.

Walking back into the living room, shield on my arm, Sam had something in his hand that wasn't a gun. It looked like a lump of dark colored cloth, "What's that?" I asked.

"Bucky's been here." Sam replied with deadly calm, eyes dark.

I can honestly say at that moment, I was terrified and elated at the same time. Bucky had reached out to me.

"You… you aren't seriously happy about this?" Sam then stated incredulously, shaking the rumpled clothes at me.

"Well, I sure as hell ain't mad!" I retorted finding my temper rising, "He came here. He reached out…" I trailed off moving to the window, gazing out into the alley. The thought that I was a sitting duck in the window and he could have a sniper rifle aiming at my chest right now didn't even occur to me. Glancing down, there was no red dot.

"I checked already. Nothing else is there. He's long gone… maybe." Wilson replied. There was a long pause between us. He put a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at him, " Hey, I'm sorry, man. I… I forget that you and he were close. I only know the business side of him and it was not pretty."

A smile crept across my face, "It's ok. He's a real respectable guy once you get to know him." I turned to face Sam, "But I understand where you're coming from. I shouldn't be so rosy glasses."

"Then you know I'm already going to stay the night here, right?" Wilson stated, holstering his pistol.

"I thought you'd never ask." I replied slightly sarcastic, "Let me get you a pillow and a blanket. "We can strategize in the morning."

Lying in bed, my shield in the barest arm reach, sleep was elusive. The ceiling of my bedroom never was interesting until tonight and I studied it like I had a final exam about it. _ Bucky_, I thought, tumbling his name around in my head like tossing a ball from hand to hand. His face was on the back of my eyelids and when I did drift off, Natasha's Red Room file was a newsreel playing non-stop. All that horror and pain that he endured, and now he had been here in my place. What was he thinking? Where was he? Certainly, if he wanted to kill Sam and me he'd have no reservations about it, but that wasn't his training.

_Where are you Bucky? I want to help you_, were the only thoughts that galloped through my head for the rest of the night. Tomorrow would be difficult.


	12. Caution When Opening

**I Know What You Did in the Dark Ch 12**

**Sam**

Steve was being an goofy ass, "Seriously, the serum did that to me. That's why I can lap you silly, 'air man'" he laughed with that "happy boy" smile of his.

I gave him a sneer and replied," Well, I don't see them handing that voodoo magic out at basic training, grunt."

Steve put his key in the door and opened it just like usual. Expecting to walk in, I stepped forward and bumped into Steve's bigger frame. His hand was extended upward to stop me and instantly, I was on alert. "What's up?" I asked quietly and my gun was in my hand, ready for action.

"_Something_. It's not right." Steve said with that sixth sense every soldier develops when they've been in the field. I knew exactly what he meant. Signaling to me to cover him, he somersaulted into his living room. Sweeping the room with my gun held at the ready, I covered him. Every hair on my body stood on end and I was alert to any red laser dots of a sniper rifle. Bucky had been here, I could sense it. There was a window behind the couch that was open.

Steve signaled he was going to his bedroom and so I began to search behind the furniture, the kitchen, the open window and the fire escape. All clear. On the counter top was a half filled glass of milk, still cold. A banana with teeth marks was on the floor, freshly peeled. _This guy has balls_, I thought, comes in, _eats a dudes food and then bolts? Well maybe he's not here to kill us. _I decide not to tell Rogers about the milk and banana and quickly clean that up.

I moved to the window again and saw a dark lump just outside, sitting on the steel of the fire escape. I picked it up and saw the Amtrak patch. That was the nail in the coffin. Bucky _was _here. Just as I did, Steve returned, shield hanging on his arm. "What's that?" he asked me, looking half terrified and half like a boy at Christmas.

"Bucky's been here." I replied as serious as a heart attck.

The shocked/confused/scared look deepened on Cap's face. Was he thinking…?!

You… you aren't seriously happy about this?" I blurted with disbelief. I shook with anger.

"Well, I sure as hell ain't mad!" He flung back, his tone angry, "He came here. He reached out…"

I watched the dazed Cap looking out the window at the night, shield on his arm silhouetted in yellow alley lamplight. Not a very heroic but rather despondent looking picture. My conscience caught up with me and smacked the back of my head making me realize I was now being the ass.

"I checked already. Nothing else is there. He's long gone… maybe. He certainly helped himself to your wardrobe." I replied trying not to sound harsh. The air thickened between us and then I reached out to put a hand on Roger's shoulder. He turned around, " Hey, I'm sorry, man. I… I forget that you and he were close. I only know the business side of him and it was not pretty."

He glanced at the floor and then back up at me, a smirk forming, "It's ok. He's a real respectable guy once you get to know him. But I understand where you're coming from. I shouldn't be so rosy glasses."

"Then you know I'm already going to stay the night here, right?" I declared, holstering my weapon and throwing the Amtrak uniform in the kitchen trash.

"I thought you'd never ask." he responded slightly mocking, "Let me get you a pillow and a blanket. "We can strategize in the morning."

There have been many a couch I've slept on for various reasons in my lifetime. Some occasions were happy ones, others sad ones and of course there were the "dog house" moments. This time was none of these and I spent the rest of the night on Steve's very comfortable couch thinking of all the ways an ex-assassin could come and kill us in our sleep.

I wasn't afraid, but I was worried. What was Bucky's fractured mind up to? What was his purpose of coming here tonight, but only eating some food and taking some clothes? What was Steve thinking? A happy reunion? I certainly hope he didn't expect one because I doubt that was on the table.


	13. Lovers and Lies

**I Know What You Did In the Dark ch 13 **

**Bucky**

I didn't have time to run down stairs. Gracefully, I flipped and slid down the side rails of the ironworks to the street, letting my training take over, sprinting to the deeper darkness of the alley, terror in my throat. Skidding to a halt next to a stinking dumpster, my heart was pounding and breath coming in ragged gasps like I had just seen a ghost.

Fear gripped my guts, bending me over, hands on knees, about to wretch. When I had gulped enough air, I slowly turned my head towards Steve's window, which was visible from the ground. That man who fought with Steve on the helicarrier was there. He didn't have wings right now and I vaguely recall trying to kill him too. Pistol in hand, he scanned the fire escape quickly and efficiently and saw the bundled clothes I left behind outside the window. _**DAMN**_, I cursed myself, _How could I have been so foolish! _I stared hard at the ground, putting hands to my head like a vise.

**You are afraid, Asset, **the voice came unbidden, but this time it wasn't to accuse.

Afraid of what? I argued back, realizing I was playing with the fire of my alter ego and not sure if it was wise.

**Afraid of who you are, **the voice replied gently like a lover.

Why should I be afraid? I am Bucky Barnes! Steve's best friend! I tried to sound proud and confident to calm that icy panic in my stomach. It wasn't working.

**He knows. They all do. They know all about your past. Only I know who you really are and I care about you.** The voice was like a woman trying to get me to sleep with her. I could feel seductive psychic fingers tracing my brain in my skull. The touch was… pleasant.

How can he? He thought I was _dead _for so long. We both thought each other were _dead_…. I trailed off trying to keep my thoughts straight from the mental come-on.

**He knows what you did in the dark, **the voice soothed. **Come back to us and we will make everything fine. **The sound of that familiar voice was so temping.

Looking skyward, tears slid down my face. A sob bubbled up from me and I didn't try to stifle it. They know… they know… he knows! I repeated over and over.

Daring a look at the window, Steve stood there, shield on his arm gazing out across the rooftops. Suddenly, I felt naked as if he could see my sins laid before me. Punishment was waiting to be imparted. Instead, as I watched him, he became a light that cut to my core. The expression on his face was hopeful, like he was looking and eager to find me. I knew that face when we were boys, when we'd come out of school. He'd be waiting for me and always happy when we reunited. That same expression was on his face now.

**Asset, you know he won't take you back. You've done too much. The world doesn't love you like we do. **The voice had a harder edge to it now as if it was annoyed.

Well, I'm going to take that chance. If he kills me, so be it. Get out of my head! Cursing at the voice, I walked away into the darkness. I needed a plan.


	14. I Will Do Anything

**I Know What You Did in the Dark ch 14**

**Steve**

The two cups of coffee sat steaming between us. Sam had his right hand wrapped around his mug, leaning heavily on his left arm, barely awake. I wasn't in much better shape holding my head in my own hand, elbow on the table. Mom wouldn't have liked to see us with our elbows on the table and I straightened up unconsciously, as if she was in the room admonishing me. Old habits die hard, I guess.

The sun hadn't even come up yet. What little sleep I did get was interrupted by a nightmare. At four in the morning, I gave up and tip toed out into the living room. Sam was already awake, looking as haggard as I felt. I made us coffee and we sat there for a long while, not speaking but trying to just reach full consciousness.

Finally, the caffeine did its work. I broached the silence, looking at Sam. "So, do we go looking for him or wait for him to come back?"

Sam cocked his hazy gaze towards me and inhaled a deep breath, scrubbing his face a few times with his hands, "I dunno, Cap. Hard to gauge where he's at. He's not exactly firing on all cylinders."

I felt the frown between my brows form when Wilson referenced Bucky's tortured existence but brushed it off as lack of sleep, "Well, if he wanted to kill us, he wouldn't have bolted."

"True." Sam replied and took a long drink of his coffee.

"And I don't think he'd try to come out in broad daylight." I reasoned, sipping mine.

"Apparently he's not too shy with daylight. He took a train to get here." Sam reminded me, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. If I were younger, I'd have thought our fatigue was from tying one on the night before instead of assassin hunting.

"True." It was my time to confirm the facts.

The sun began its very preliminary exploration of the horizon again as Sam and I still sat there, no closer to our answer.

"What if one of us stayed and the other looked for him?" I suggested as I got up and fixed myself some toast and grabbed a banana. Sam gave me a strange look when I reached for the banana. I wondered why.

"And where do you think he'd be around here?" Sam offered, rising and pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"I think I may have a few hunches. Just depends if some of the buildings have been torn down." I returned bringing my plate of toast to the table and turning to look off out the windows at the brightening skyline.

"Then I'll let you be the hunter." he stated with a halfhearted smile, "I already chased him up from DC for you."

"Fair enough. Just if don't back by dinnertime, send in the troops. " Sitting, I finished my coffee and ate my toast and banana.

"You mean save your ass." Sam chuckled, coming back to the table with his mug full.

"Yeah. Something like that, bird man." I replied sardonically.

"Ok, grunt." Sam returned then he got serious looking, "You know this may not turn out well."

"I know." I mumbled through my toast. My heart was trying to persuade my mind from what the truth was; we didn't know if Bucky was still trying to fulfill his mission of killing me.

"Are you ready for that?" Wilson leaned in, his voice sympathetic.

"Not sure. I am trying to be optimistic." My tone was more clipped. I didn't want to have to think about this.

"Well, it's a conversation we need to have. We're having it right now." Sam pressed.

"I noticed." I responded exasperatedly but then said with resignation, "I can save the world, but I can't save my best friend."

Wilson leaned back and drank more coffee, "It's ok to feel that way. You don't care about the world like you care about Bucky. That's why you didn't kill him on the carrier."

"I could never do that." I said flatly, my eyes a hard stare at Sam.

"I know. I know. But you should be prepared." he commented neutrally. He was trying to work his therapist magic on me. I resisted.

"To kill Bucky?" I asked incredulously.

"If you need to." Sam said and raised a hand to stop my heated reply," Because he may not be the man you knew and too broken to fix."

Letting those words wash over me was like a cold bucket of water. Sam was doing his job, being my logical half, and I respected that. But I think it was time he learned a little history between Bucky and I.

Looking at Wilson, I let my heart overcome my rational brain, "Sam, when I was a boy, we didn't have all this fancy technology and medicines that everyone apparently takes for granted now. The Depression was exactly that. We were depressed, poor and dying of starvation. Times are tough now, but nothing like what we lived through." I paused waiting for a retort from Wilson but none came, "It was my time. I'm no tougher than the next guy, but that was _our time_, Bucky and I. And when I was starving and homeless, orphaned and sick, _that boy_, took me in. He shared his food with me, paid for medicines I didn't have, and put me up in his own home. I owe my _life_ to him. So I will do anything for that man. I will save him or die trying."

Sam looked at me, his face unreadable. Then looking past me out the windows at the streaming sunlight for a long while, he finally replied, "Understood."

Getting up, he went to the bathroom to shower and shave. I sat there, my toast half eaten, coffee gone cold. Did I just destroy one friendship to save another?


	15. I'll take care of you, pal

**A/N Trigger warning- possible suicide. Although Marvel Movie-verse does not necessarily follow the cannon comics, I threw in a gratuitous nod to Falcon as the next Cap. 8belles**

**I Know What You Did In the Dark ch 15**

**Sam**

I stepped into the hot shower and let the water rush over me for a moment as if it would take the foreboding I felt away down the drain. Steve was ever the optimist. The Star Spangled Man with the plan. I could only wish to share his hopeful view of his very damaged friend. Sometimes being a therapist made you see things others didn't want to.

Cleaning up, I got dressed and let Steve has his turn at the shower. We said nothing to each other in passing. Catching his eye briefly, I could tell he thought I was mad at him. Actually, I wasn't angry at all, only clarified. I know a lot about about non-verbal communication.

When he reappeared dressed, I was tidying up from my breakfast. He kept looking down at the floor then up at me like a puppy I had yelled at for messing on the floor. "Steve, I'm not mad." I broke the ice between us.

"Are you sure?" he asked me dubiously.

"Absolutely. I know your feelings better now. However, if Bucky tries to kill you, I will get him first. Understood?" I leveled with Rogers.

"Understood." he repeated with a steely look in his eye as if he dared me to think Bucky would ever hurt him.

I gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement, "Where are you going to look for him?"

"I thought I'd check our old apartment, maybe his family's place and even the cemetery where his folks… and mine…are buried." He replied unevenly like the last words were too hard to say.

"Alright. I'll be right here. Be back before sundown." I instructed, folding my arms over my chest.

"Ok, mom." Steve smirked at me heading to the door.

"Well someone's got to look out for you." I shot back annoyed at his flip attitude.

Opening the door stepping into the hall Rogers turned to look at me, pain and hope in his expression simultaneously, "That's what Bucky would have said." He shut the door quietly.

I let about ten minutes pass before throwing on a jacket and headed down stairs. My gut was telling me Barnes was watching us in the early morning light. Exiting the lobby, I turned right and walked up the street a few blocks. Biding my time, I took a long route back, and a quick duck into the lobby and up to the apartment. My plan was simple: make Barnes think we were both out for the day looking for him. My hunch was he'd return again to Steve's place, not quite ready to face the man, but rather his memories.

I settled down in a comfy chair that sat in the corner of the living room, in the shade of window curtains and waited.

It was after lunch that our elusive assassin showed up.

Stealth, like a large black cat, he was virtually silent on the fire escape, prying the window open again. Sliding in, he expertly put a careful foot on the old wood floor, testing it for noise, his back to me. Staying still and breathing quietly, I watched him and pondered how do you say hello to a damaged man who tried to kill you without startling him.

Bucky was still dressed in Steve's jeans and had a hoodie over his metal arm, but he looked too skinny to me. His hair was a mess and who knows when he actually last had a shower. I was reminded of the homeless guy in D.C. Barnes had robbed for his clothes. Desperate times require desperate measures, I guess.

James stood up from his crouch at the window and swept the room carefully, yet confidently, with his gaze. Eventually, his eyes reached me. In a flash, there was a long knife in his hand. I didn't move and we stared at each other for a while.

I decided I'd go first, "James."

Bucky watched me, narrowing his eyes, "How do you know my name?"

"I am friends with Steve." I stated plainly, keeping my hands visible to him.

Bucky assessed me and I am sure had several exit strategies already figured out that involved my death. "Why are you here?" he asked me in a business like manner.

"Same could be said for you." I returned, my voice even.

"Why are you here?" he ignored my comment.

"To meet you. Steve has said great things about you." I kept still trying to judge his mental state.

Suddenly, a stricken look appeared on his face and he paled visibly, "He knows, doesn't he?"

"Who knows what, Bucky?" I asked interested to hear his answer.

"Steve. I knows all the… evil… I've done." Bucky replied, his voice wavering slightly. The metal hand reached up and touched the left side of his head. I could see tension in his jaw like something was trying to get out. Barnes's knees trembled as if he was fighting to stay standing.

"He forgives you." I said kindly, assuming that he was having a flashback or some sort of brainwashing was trying to assert itself, "We all do."

"NO. No, I won't!" He yelled out loud at no one in particular and released the knife to clutch his other side of his head. The blade fell point first, deeply into the wood floor. Bucky crashed not far from it on his knees.

I leaned forward but kept my distance, "Bucky! Listen to me. We forgive you. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Come back. Breathe."

Still clutching his head, he writhed on the floor mumbling and groaning as if in horrible pain. I caught his gaze through the laced fingers around his skull. An intensely suffering sane man was visible for a fraction of a second before madness took over. Eyes rolled up in his head and he convulsed, shoving the couch against the wall, back arched unnaturally and every muscle taut.

Feeling my cell phone vibrate in my jean pocket, I ignored it. It was probably Steve but I had my hands full right now.

Approaching Barnes carefully on the floor, I crouched near him, "Bucky. It's ok. Easy, easy." It was hard keeping my voice steady and reassuring not sure if he was just seizing or going to snap out of it and do something crazy.

Abruptly, he went still, his eyes still closed. My heart beat quickly in my chest waiting for his next move. Cracking open his eyes from between his hands he looked at me, almost lucidly. Letting his head go, he sat up, cross-legged as if nothing happend, the knife still imbedded in the floor inches from his hand. "James?" I asked him quietly, "Are you ok?"

Soulless icy blue eyes met mine, moments later, a knife was in my face and he was on top of me. The full weight of Barnes told me he might be half starved but he was all muscle. I grabbed his wrists that were double fisting the blade at my nose. An inhuman growl emanated from him. "Bucky!" I wheezed through clenched teeth fighting back the blade hovering over my face, "I know you're in there! Come back!" The mechanical arm was so powerful!

The blank, maniacal look was still in his eye as he tried pushing the blade towards me. Our arms trembled violently with the opposing forces; me trying to save my life, him trying to take it. He needed to be off-balanced which would be difficult since he was practically sitting on my chest. I gave a heaving roll left; the knife stabbed the floor where my head had just been. I pushed him up and over me, sending him crashing into a coffee table. Bucky stood quickly and squared up for attack. "Bucky! Stop this. I'm your friend." I said firmly while sucking air standing my ground but ready to defend myself.

With silence, he attacked throwing punches that I ducked, barely in time. Weaving around the apartment, I shoved furniture in his way to slow him down because I was no match for that arm. The living room was rapidly becoming a shambles. Fleetingly, I recalled Steve's shield in his bedroom. I blocked a punch or two from James and threw in a few of my own, even my best right hook. Barnes took it on the chin and staggered back a few feet, briefly stunned. I sprinted past him to find Steve's shield under his bed, where he always kept it. Slipping my arm through the straps, it was so strange to feel how natural it felt to me to be holding it.

Turning just in time, Bucky had a palm sized, but no less deadly, 9mm gun aimed at me. He squeezed off a few shots then stopped. I huddled behind the shield as the bullets zinged off away from me. After a few seconds of silence, I spoke, "Bucky. It's me Sam Wilson. I want to help you. Please stop so we can talk."

As my heart pounded in my chest, I heard nothing else from him, so I dared to lower my arm slightly and peak over the edge of the shield. Bucky stood there, arms limply at his sides, staring at the shield as if mesmerized by the red, white and blue. The blank, dead look was not on his face any more but more a confused and dazed one as if he had just woken up from a bad nightmare. "I… knew him." he muttered to no one in particular.

"Yes. James. We know him. Steve Rogers." I agreed, slowly letting the shield down a fraction more.

Barnes stood there stone-like, then his eyes met mine and I saw that poor wretched soul, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so… evil."

"No, you're not. The Soviets did things to you no human should have to endure." I assured him, "Let me help you. Put the gun down."

A light appeared in his expression as if he had a great thought, then he raised the pistol to his temple, "Steve doesn't deserve me."

The guy was going to off himself. Not on my watch! "WAIT! Bucky!"

The tension on the trigger lessened somewhat. Yes, this was a cry for help. I needed to answer this one in a hurry, "Bucky, lets sit for a bit and you can tell me your story."

James regarded me with the saddest expression I've ever seen, "Not sure that would help. Let me just end this. It hurts."

"Yes, it does. When my partner Riley died, I wanted to die too. He was my brother." I responded using Riley's story again and realizing it was the best last gift he could ever give me as a friend. Every time I told it, he lived on.

A flicker of recognition came into his expression as if I had hit a nerve in shared suffering, "Then you … understand?"

"I do. And not a day goes by that I'm not looking down into that black pit of hell. But I rise to the light, Bucky. We fight on. We're soldiers and we need to help each other get through the pain. No one will understand us like each other." I paused seeing my words starting to soak in maybe, "So let me help you through the pain. Put the gun down."

James blinked a few times, a tear or two splashing onto his unshaven cheeks and his hand began to just barely relax. The barrel of the gun started to tilt away from his skull and arm loosen as weariness swept over him.

The door to the apartment burst open with a kick, shattering the doorframe in a shower of splinters and plaster dust. Steve rocketed in afterward, chest heaving, looking like he just sprinted the Empire State building's 1576 stairs. Bucky whirled to face the loud commotion, the gun still in his hand. I cursed under my breath. Just when I got things under control, I didn't need Rogers intruding.

"Bucky!" Steve's voice was a tone I'd never heard him use when saying Barnes' name. It was like joy made into a sound. Staring at his best friend, he ignored the destruction of his place and the gun in James's hand.

Barnes froze, turned away from me so I couldn't his expression, but I could see the tension building in his shoulders like a smoldering volcano, hand tightening on the gun.

"Steve. We are both _really glad_ to see James, but we have a bit of a _situation _here." I kept my tone neutral but the big lug was not listening.

"Buck, how _are_ you." Steve took a step toward James, hands outstretched.

James immediately drew the gun up to his head again. Steve stopped, a shocked expression to his previously ecstatic face. "Don't. Just. Don't." Barnes said and I could hear the tears redeveloping in his voice.

"Bucky, what are you _doing_?" Steve barely whispered reaching out his hands, his face pale.

James was inhaling rapidly, his back rising and falling, as if he was uncertain how to proceed, "I… I. Steve, I am… a horrible person."

Oh great, we're back to that. Two steps forward, one giant step back. Hopefully he doesn't attack Steve, I thought to myself.

"No. No Bucky. You are the best man I ever knew." Steve responded and I could see his eyes starting to glisten, "Remember, when we were kids, you saved me so many times. You took care of me when I was sick. You saved my life in battle… When I lost you on that train, I _died_, Bucky. I was a shell of a man and I've thought about you every day since. I am nothing without you. Don't do this."

I continued to listen, slowly reaching for the taser in my thigh pocket of my pants. Maybe Steve would talk him down, maybe not, but I would make sure Bucky didn't harm Rogers or himself.

"They hurt me, Steve. It hurt so much." Bucky stated, sobs swelling in his tone, "And I just want it to stop."

"Buck, no. Let me help you. Please. I can't lose you again." Steve pleaded and I noticed he was inching forward to Barnes. The gun didn't change grip in his hand as far as I could see.

"The voice. It tells me bad things. Peirce tells me bad things. Steve…the cold… it hurts!" Barnes sounded like a small child in the ER getting stiches. It made you want to hug him like a mother would a baby.

"I know, Buck. I know. Pierce is gone now. We will make you better and take that voice away." Steve promised as he got closer and closer.

Barnes lowered his head slowly and I assumed took his eyes off of Steve, "And it tells me to kill you." In a fraction of a second, the gun was pointed at Rogers.

"Steve!" I flung the shield to him, which he expertly caught as bullets ricocheted off it. Once the clip was empty in a few shots, both of us simultaneously tackled Barnes, my taser jamming into James's thigh. Lightening crackled between the three of us, but Bucky got the worst of it. A strangled howl came from Barnes and Cap hung on to him for dear life until the discharge was finished. Bucky went limp in our grasp.

The three of us lay piled on the floor, a Winter Soldier crushed between us; our hearts beating wildly. I looked at Cap as he shook the effects of the shock from his head, "You ok?"

"Yeah. I'm electrified." he replied with a smirk. I had a suspicion he wouldn't be so perky if the target wasn't Bucky.

"Well, I had it under control until you busted in here." I replied, disentangling myself from the mess. Steve held the unconscious James in his lap as if he could not believe the ghost from his past was actually here in flesh and blood.

"It's my turn." Steve said absently, gazing at his best friend.

"To do what?" I asked straightening my clothes and glancing around at the destroyed apartment. Black Widow would sure have a fun time putting her two cents in about a make over for this place. Maybe Sharon would help too.

"For me to take care of him. Like he used to do for me all those years ago." Rogers glanced up at me briefly then back to the sleeping Bucky. "And I won't let you down, pal."

No, I don't think you will, I thought to myself as I went to make a few phone calls. This case was going to need a team of Avengers to fix.

FINE.


End file.
